I tired to slip past West Ham Wanker in the gents without conversation. He had that look in his eye that said: I have got a story to tell you, and I’m going to tell it to you even if I have to tie you down.

Oh, go on then, fella.

Mr Wanker was unhappy about slipping out for a pee in the family changing rooms, midway through a UKIP Racist Spa session.

My first thought was that at least he actually used the changing room, and not the UKIP Racist Spa for a pee.

“And so I f-ing opened the toilet door, and what the F did I f-ing see? Only some c*** of an old f-ing granny, knickers around her ankles and her arse in the air.”

Oh dear.

I made some comment about how it might have been upsetting if a young family member had walked in on the scene.

“Mate – I was f-ing TRAUMATISED”

…replied Mr W.

I pressed on with the swim.

New Order’s Bizarre Love Triangle was playing in the gym as I left.

CHOON!

I had a brief garden inspection back at base ahead of the next run of work shifts.